Darkness
by Pinkchick
Summary: Darkness. A day in the life of Scott Summers before the Xavier Institute. Get inside the head of a homeless, blind kid. Please R&R! Much appreciated!


**Disclaimer:** Really, if I owned anything, I'd go and write for Marvel.

**Author's Note: **Hey all! Well, it's another story! This was inspired by a project in one of my classes that I actually had to go through. It came up and I just had to write it. This story is dedicated to those who are mistreated for their disabilities in any way. It's completely disrespectful and everyone has to remember that no these are people too, and that they should be judged solely on their character like everyone else. Ok, I just had to get that off my chest! Anywho, I've written this story for you guys and I want you to really tell me what you think about it! So, enough babbling, on with the story! Read, REVIEW and ENJOY!

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**Darkness**

**By: pinkchick**

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Darkness. That was all that hit me when I woke and remembered where I was. Waking up wouldn't even be the term to describe something like this. I couldn't even 'wake up' as many people liked to call it. It unnerved me. I couldn't even open my eyes for fear of blasting the first thing that came into my line of vision. So, there was pure and utter darkness. I can't deny that I am scared, because the truth is that I am. Scared of the fact that I really don't know what's going on around me or anything like that. Being blind isn't something that I'm accustomed to being, to tell you the truth. It just… happened. I don't know what people would call this, but I've heard people mutter "Mutie" around me a couple of times. I never quite understood it though. Now, however, I think I do. I slowly made my way down the street, or what I hoped was the street. I needed to get my hands on some kind of food. I am so damned hungry and I probably smell too.

I was an official runaway. Not that I actually expected anyone to come out and look for me. The man that I had run away from was an evil, psychedelic, alcoholic abuser. He only used me to earn himself a couple of dollars. And notice that I'm using the past tense with him, too. I killed a man, yes. But, the reason for it was far from intentional. It was an accident on my part, and so now a man was dead. All because of me. I don't think I'm really able to feel very sorry for him, but I do feel guilty. Guilty for the fact that I had killed anyone to begin with. Now I don't even have anything to show for it except some rotten clothes and a blindfold to cover my eyes. I am blind now. Blind and there's nothing I can do about it.

I stumbled and fell over, knocking over some garbage cans. My head hits the wall and a piece of glass cuts my leg. I curse under my breath, but I know that it won't stop the bleeding now. I really never realized how hard it would be to be blind. The thought had never really occurred to me before. I had always been a seeing person. Always. Never once did I stop to think about the fact that I may someday end up blind. It was hard, to say the least. Especially harder on a person who isn't born blind to begin with. To go from seeing to not seeingI'll tell ya, it's like someone hit me on the back of the head and woke up in a different world. It changes everything. It definitely brings on a whole new perspective of the world. In this case, it's the dark side. Hey, can anyone be too bitter to joke around?

I never realized what a crueler world this place could be when you're dubbed as "blind". People will start treating you as some kind of hopeless case, or maybe as for me, they won't even look in your direction. But like I said, I can't see, so I wouldn't know for sure. But, based on the fact that I'm still out in the street doesn't exactly make me feel any hopeful. Nothing really does anymore.

Being blind is tough, and yet the experts (who've been blind since birth) make it look as though it's second nature. Sometimes I feel so damn useless. I have no future, I mean really. I'm being realistic here. What in the hell am I gonna do with my life? A poor old blind kid. Truth is, sometimes I wake up hoping to die. But, I keep fighting as if there's really something to live for. Yet, somehow, I can't figure out what that something is. I have dreams…. Dreams about an angel. The funny thing is that she always seems to be speaking to me, but I can never hear her. I can see her, but I can't hear her. How ironic is that? I can barely even remember what she looks like, but she was there. I think that's what truly keeps me going. Hell, if it wasn't for that much I really don't know where I'd be. Maybe there is something worth living for.

The wind somehow makes its presence known to me as I lift myself off of the filthy ground. I'm starving - I'm so hungry I could probably eat an entire cow. Hell, I even know its sacred in some religions, but trust me, I could care less right now. Sometimes people kill me (figuratively speaking) and I know I may sound bitter, but that's how I feel. They'll either help you for two things and two things only: 1.) Out of sympathy and pity, and 2.) Because they wanna look good themselves. And maybe that's being a little skeptical, but that's how I basically see it. Nobody cares for trash. And, well, I don't blame them, either. Before, I had never given it a thought… and so here I am. Blind as a bat and rummaging around for food in the garbage can. I know I used to see homeless kids on TV shows when I was younger all the time. It was always the same typical stereotype by it being the "New York way", but to say the least, it's bullshit. Really, it is. You watch this stuff thinking it's a way of life (and it is), but you never see yourself there. At least, not until the cruelty of life gets you there.

I finally find something that feels like it could be eaten. I put it in my mouth. Immediately a disgusting taste enters my mouth and I swallow hard. The thing turns out to be a rotten apple; it may sound disgusting to everyone else, but to me, it's all I have. That's all I have… that and my senses. You never could be able to rely on just your hearing to get through the day albeit with a few scratches but alive, nonetheless. Losing my vision miraculously helped shoot through my acute hearing and my senses of touch and smell. I guess it's true what they say: you lose something and you always gain something else - probably stronger.

I feel that it's getting late so I walk back to the place I have to unfortunately call "home". It's only a small room inside what's probably left of an abandoned building. It has nothing but a small but a small plastic bag I use as a bed sheet to sleep on. I feel around for it, and thankfully, it's still there. I lay down, making sure that my blindfold is still safely wrapped around my eyes. That's become a strange habit of mine lately. I know no one's around and yet I still feel the need to know that I'm not gonna hurt anyone. And here people thought that I was dangerous. The thing they didn't know was that the entire time they were very wrong. I'm way past being dangerous; my eyes are weapons in their own right.

I put my head down on the rough ground and rest my tired body. Although I've never been a firm believer in God, I have to pray and thank Him for another day… no matter how uneventful and useless it turned out to be. I know I have no future and no past to go back on. All I have is this beat up place to sleep, filthy clothes, and a blindfold. And for right, I know that that's enough. I dream and long for the day when I'll be able to see again, but I know it's all in vain. Who would want a kid like me anyway? People are only good at looking after themselves. I can picture it now, as everyone is asleep in their nice and cozy beds, I, Scott Summers, lay here only _thinking_ about the prospect of that nice, cozy bed. I wallow in the feeling of drowsiness and remember that I don't have to close my eyes to retreat to the land of unconsciousness. They say the blind never see… but I do, and it's only one thing. Darkness.


End file.
